


Retrace

by Fragged



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Dirty Talk, Hangover, M/M, Memory Loss, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not the first time Young wakes up with a hangover. It's the first time he wakes up with Rush in his bed, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retrace

Before he's even fully awake, he knows he's hungover. His mouth is dry as cotton. His head throbs in an almost reassuring rhythm. When he blearily blinks his eyes open, the low lights stab into his brain, wide coronas flaring around each point of illumination. 

He looks to his left – this is not the first time he's drunk too much – and finds his canteen on the nightstand. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he reaches over to take a few sips of water. The flat, slightly chalky aftertaste of it makes his nausea surge, and his stomach clenches unhappily. God, what he would give for some goddamn ibuprofen on this ship. 

It isn't until he feels goosebumps break out over his skin that he realizes he's not wearing a shirt. The much more shocking revelation, however, is that he's not alone in his bed. 

Oh, fuck. Oh, Jesus. He's 99% sure that the person on his right is Rush. That's definitely Rush's hair. And Rush's shoulder, turned away from him. While he's never really imagined what Rush's naked shoulder looks like, he's pretty sure that's it, and oh God, why is Rush not wearing a shirt either? 

Carefully, suddenly intensely focused on not waking the other man in his bed – and in his current state of hungover distress he can't wrap his mind around that idea quite fully yet – Young lifts his blanket to confirm the suspicion that it's not just his shirt he's missing. Goddammit. He's completely naked, his underwear still haphazardly hanging onto one ankle. Jesus Christ, what did he _do_? 

He freezes when he hears a muffled groan coming from next to him. 

“The fuck?” Rush asks groggily, before he turns onto his back. And then he stills entirely as their eyes meet. Young can almost see Rush's thought process, taking count of where he is, who he's with, what he's wearing. Or not wearing. It's probably safe to assume he is in a similar state of undress as Young. Oh, God, this is so messed up.

He sees Rush's hand move beneath the covers, checking himself for clothing, possibly, and drags his eyes away. He's not sure how to react to the vaguely disgusted sound Rush makes, but he takes it as confirmation that Rush is more naked than he'd like to be as well. 

“What did we do?” Rush asks suddenly, and the rough sound of his voice almost makes Young jump.

He starts to shake his head, but the heavy sloshing in his skull makes him abort that movement. “I don't know,” he croaks. “I don't remember.” His voice sounds gravelly and too loud in the dim light of his room. 

Rush groans again, and from the corner of his eye Young sees him clap a hand over his eyes. 

Finally, he takes stock of the room. His shirt is lying on the floor, not too far from his side of the bed, so he bends down to pick it up. His head and his stomach lurch dangerously with the sudden activity, but he manages to shrug the shirt on without throwing up or blacking out, so he counts it as a win. It takes some time to hook his other foot through his boxer shorts, but once he succeeds he leans forward slowly to tug his underwear back on. The blanket shifts up with his movement, and with an angry huff Rush slams his arm down on it to shield his body from Young's view. 

“Sorry,” Young mumbles, although he wasn't even looking. 

This is better. Now that he's not so naked anymore, he feels at least a modicum of calm. This doesn't have to be what it looks like. Young doubts he could've gotten up to much, physically speaking, if he was drunk to the point of blackout amnesia anyway. Besides, if neither of them remembers, does it even matter what happened? 

His logic may not be airtight, it may not hold up to the scrutiny of a less alcohol-addled brain, but it's enough to keep the reins on his panic for now.

“You want some water?” he asks, and holds out his canteen for Rush. Rush mutters something unintelligible, and takes it without making eye contact. 

Young resolutely turns his gaze to the side when Rush brings the canteen to his mouth, instead opting to scan the room for his pants. They're draped haphazardly over one of the couches, as if they've been flung there, and Young wonders once again what the hell they did last night. 

Right. Not helpful. Young forces himself out of bed to grab his pants. 

“I'm going to take a shower,” he says as he works them on, firmly ignoring the weirdness of the whole situation. Rush doesn't respond, and when Young flicks his eyes over to him, he sees Rush staring determinedly at the wall. 

Okay. He steps into his boots, foregoing his socks – who knows where he left those – and makes his way out of his quarters. 

By the time he gets back, Rush is gone. 

-

“Hey, Colonel,” Eli greets him in the mess hall that morning. His voice is much too chipper, and it grates on his nerves. 

He refrains from scrubbing his hand over his forehead. It's not like it'll do anything to quiet the deafening sounds of people clanging cutlery and dragging their shoes over the deck plating. 

“Bit hungover, huh?” Eli asks, volume lowered in a way Young would find considerate, if he wasn't feeling so goddamn close to throwing up. 

“So, uh, how was the rest of the night? What did you two get up to?” 

And the question shocks him almost enough to make him forget about how fucking terrible he feels. He snaps his head up, and then squints his eyes against the nauseating throb in his head. “What do you mean?” 

Eli looks a bit startled. “Uh, you and Rush. Last night. You were drinking together in the still, and then you just sort of laughed for a really long time, and then you left together. Everyone was kind of wondering what you ended up doing. The running bet is drunken chess, although Volker seems convinced you two were planning on writing a play or a duet, or something.”

Young barely contains an agitated groan. “Everyone?” 

“Well, uh, Chloe, Scott and I were there. And Brody and Volker, of course. And I think Camile and James were there too.” Eli scratches the back of his head. “Er, I had maybe a little too much to drink, so I might be forgetting someone?” 

Great. So half the ship saw him leave with Rush. Which means the whole ship knows about it by now, beyond question. He's not sure if people really believe they were off doing something so innocent, or if Eli is just trying to protect his delicate sensibilities. 

God, what the hell happened last night? 

They'd had a stressful day. One of those brush-with-death kind of battles that they'd escaped relatively unharmed thanks to a last-minute plan Eli and Chloe had come up with, and a number of people had taken to celebrating their return to FTL in Brody's still. 

He remembers Rush standing by the door, observing but not joining the festivities. He knows he asked Brody for two cups, remembers taking the one over to Rush, because they'd done well, all of them. They'd survived, and they'd kept Destiny in one piece, and Rush was part of the crew; he deserved to sit down and drink with the rest of them. 

How they had gone from that semi-awkward cup clinking next to the door to getting blackout drunk and retreating to Young's quarters, he has no idea. 

He watches the protein slush drip from his spoon back into his bowl. It's the strawberry flavored kind, which is by far the worst one. The only reason they know it's supposed to taste like strawberries is because it says so on the box, according to Becker. The three years in stasis probably haven't done much to improve the taste either. If he eats it, he's reasonably sure he will throw up before he even exits the mess hall. 

Eli startles when Young lets his spoon clatter back into his bowl. The sharp stab in his brain makes him regret it immediately anyway. “I'm going to get some more tea,” he says, before taking his mug over to Becker. He doesn't go back to his table, but leaves the mess with his mug in hand. 

He ignores Eli's “Uh, okay. I guess I'll just clean this up, then?”, because honestly, he doesn't have it in him to respond to that right now. 

-

Later that day, he finds himself alone on the bridge with Brody. As self-proclaimed Still Master, Brody doesn't partake of his own concoctions. Well, never excessively, at least. He could probably shed some light on yesterday's events. Young is torn between asking or not. 

He rubs his hand over his face. The pounding headache has receded, and thankfully his stomach has settled enough that he managed to keep his lunch down, but he still feels like he's recovering from the flu. 

He's surprised when Brody places a mug of tea in front of him. “Hydration is the best cure for a hangover,” he states matter-of-factly. 

“Thanks.” The tea is lukewarm at best, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. He wonders if the silence that follows when he takes a few sips feels as loaded to Brody as it does to him. 

“So,” he says finally. “I might be missing some memories from last night.” 

Brody gives him a blank look, his face unreadable as ever. 

“What happened, in the still?” 

Brody shrugs. “You and Rush bonded some, it looked like.” When Young gives him a silent stare to spur him on, he continues reluctantly. “At one point I think you challenged each other to a drinking match. It ended in a draw when Rush said something and you both ended up laughing.” 

It's incredibly strange to hear this story about himself. But some of the things Brody said ring true. Tiny flints of memory splinter through the back of his mind, and he knows it happened, even if he can't recall any of the specifics. 

“After that, you talked closely for a bit, and then you left. Together.” Brody looks somewhere in between vaguely apologetic and professionally detached. 

Young considers saying something about the implication that arises from Brody's choice of words, but decides against it. Not because the implication itself might in fact be true, which is clearly still very much a possibility, but mainly because Brody doesn't seem to attach any kind of judgment to his statement. He honestly doesn't seem to give a crap. 

Brody's general unflappability is what he appreciates most about the man, Young thinks as he takes another sip of his tea. 

“You don't know what we discussed, before leaving?” 

Brody shakes his head. “You were quite a ways away. Besides, I hardly think it's any of my business what my patrons discuss in private.” 

Patrons. Yeah. Brody probably would've made quite a good bar owner, in another life. 

“Camile and James may have overheard you, though. They were sitting at the table next to you.” 

Young nods and finishes his tea. He has a meeting with Camile planned for this afternoon. He can ask her then. 

“Thanks,” he says again. Brody seems to understand their conversation is over, and goes back to work without another word. 

-

“Everett,” Camile greets him, when he walks into her quarters. Her voice is disapproving, but her smile is amused.

“Hi, Camile.” 

“We should go over the rationing restrictions, Colonel. We've been replenishing our reserves, and I think we can allow to loosen up some. Tamara says everyone has been in a near constant state of undernourishment since we arrived in this galaxy, so I think it's in everyone's best interests to increase our caloric and nutritional intake before people start falling ill.” 

“Yeah, I agree,” he says easily. “Do you have the inventory lists? We can put together the bare bones on this.” 

“Sure.” 

They work on a new schedule for nearly fifteen minutes before he asks her. Camile's lips draw into a smirk that makes her look both older and younger than her years, and he really wishes he could just _let it go_ , instead of subjecting himself to this humiliating round robin of questions with practically everyone aboard the ship.

“You really don't remember?” 

He sighs and looks away. His headache is getting worse again. “Not all of it, no.” 

She makes a small noise of amusement, and he looks her in the eye. “Well, let's just say I didn't get the impression you were going to play chess.” 

He wants to groan or make a face, but opts for keeping his features passive. “What do you mean?” 

She quirks one eyebrow and her eyes glitter mischievously. “I think you were trying to upstage each other with innuendo.” 

“How? That doesn't sound like us at all.” 

She actually rolls her eyes at him. “With all due respect, Colonel, I seriously disagree.” She gives him a fondly exasperated look. “It was all very macho and testosterone-driven, I promise you.” 

Young swallows thickly and turns his head to the side. So somehow they'd gone from a drinking contest to playing a risky game of gay chicken, and then, what? They'd just left for Young's quarters? 

“Why did we leave, do you know?” 

“You were egging each other on. It looked like Rush was trying to push you to fold. You called his bluff.” Camile looks like she wants to laugh, but she keeps her voice under control. “You both seemed a bit surprised to be leaving together, actually.” 

Perfect. That is just goddamn perfect. 

When it comes to butting heads, neither of them is overly adapt at backing down gracefully. There is no way adding alcohol did anything to improve that situation. He's pretty sure they've had at least _some_ form of sexual contact now, because if Rush was pushing him, and he was pushing Rush right back, there's not a chance in hell they would've stopped if no one had stepped in to interrupt them. 

He actually does groan then, as he scrubs his hand over his face. His head is killing him again, and God, why did he think it would be better to _know_? 

Camile's short chuckle makes him look up. “Oh, relax, would you?” she says. “Anyone who's ever seen you two interact knows this was a long time coming. Maybe now some of that sexual tension between you will finally ease up a little.” 

He's gaping. He knows he is. He realizes he probably looks ridiculous, but he can't gather enough wits about him to close his mouth and stop. How anyone could think the tension between him and Rush is sexual is...it's beyond his capacity to understand. Angry tension, suspicious tension, sure, he knows they've had plenty of that. But they've never once had a sexually charged moment, because if they had, Young would know. And he _doesn't_ know. Rush is Rush, and there is nothing appealing about him at all. 

And he's sure he isn't exactly Rush's type either. 

Although, if Camile is to be believed, the alcohol may have possibly blurred the lines there a bit. 

But even if they had stumbled from one-upping each other with alcohol into one-upping each other with sexual innuendo, that doesn't mean they're actually attracted to each other. That's why it worked; because neither of them wanted to go through with it, but neither of them wanted to back down either. 

His head pounds in sync with his heartbeat. _God fucking damnit_. 

“You look like you could use some time to recover,” Camile says with a wry smile and a pat on his knee. “Why don't I finish the rationing schedule and take this back up with you tomorrow?” 

Young just nods at her dumbly before he gets up from his chair and leaves her quarters. 

Does everyone really think there's sexual tension between him and Rush? Because if that's the case, he probably needs to set the record straight on that. Although maybe right now isn't the best time. Not while the gossip on the ship is undoubtedly all about how he and Rush had sneaked out of the still together. 

Christ. Ever since waking up with Rush in his bed, he hasn't been able to think about anything else. And this has got to stop, because he's driving himself crazy over something that really shouldn't mean anything. 

So, _maybe_ , worst-case scenario, he had some sort of drunken sex with Rush. Why does that matter so much? If neither of them can remember it, if neither of them has any kind of feelings for the other, can't they just go on like nothing happened? 

Although...he's never stopped to think about Rush's side of the story. Maybe for Rush this isn't completely meaningless. Maybe. Possibly. It's hard to imagine Rush secretly carrying a torch for him. But then, it's hard to imagine ending up in bed naked with the man too, and that hasn't stopped it from being true. 

Shit, does he need to have a talk with Rush now? 

He's a bit surprised to find himself standing in front of his own quarters. He completely zoned out during his walk, apparently. That's the final straw.

Yeah, he decides. He can't keep being distracted by this anymore. Either Rush doesn't have feelings for him, and they forget all this happened and just move on with their lives, or Rush does have feelings for him, and they talk about how it's never going to happen again, and then they move on with their lives. Either way, this has got to stop. 

He grabs his radio and clears his throat. “Rush, this is Young. Come in.” 

After a minute that seems to drag on for hours, Rush finally replies. _“What is it, Colonel? I'm busy.”_

Young sighs and presses the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Where are you? We need to talk.” 

_“That seems rather unnecessary.”_

“Rush.” 

Another minute of silence. Then, _“Control interface room. Rush out.”_

-

He stops by the mess hall first, to get two mugs of tea. Rush is probably not feeling much better than he is, and the man always looks mildly dehydrated anyway. 

Rush greets him with a sarcastically raised eyebrow, but accepts the mug with a slight shrug. 

“Where's your team?” 

“The bridge. Is that what you wanted to talk about?” 

He shakes his head. “We need to discuss what happened. Last night.”

Rush rolls his eyes. “Oh, joy.” 

“Believe me, I don't feel like discussing this anymore than you do, Rush.” 

“Yet here you are.” 

“Look, I just want to know, alright? If it changed something for you, if you—I don't know, if you want _more_ , it wouldn't be fair for me to just go on like nothing happened.” 

Rush puts his tea on the console in front of him and gives Young a look that's either annoyed or incredulous. Maybe both. “What the fuck are you on about?” 

It's goddamn frustrating, is what it is. Why is it so fucking difficult to just have a normal, honest talk with Rush? “If you have feelings for me, you need to let me know!”

“If _I_ have feelings for _you_?!” Rush scoffs loudly. “I think you might have that backwards, Colonel.” 

And what the hell does that even mean? Jesus, the man is impossible to communicate with. “What?”

Rush steps forward until he's right in Young's face. “ _I_ wasn't the one practically gagging for it last night. I wasn't the one so hard for it I couldn't even last thirty seconds! _I_ wasn't the one begging to s—” he cuts himself off abruptly, and takes a step back. Calmer, in a more measured tone of voice, he says, “That was _you_ , Colonel. Not me.”

For a second or two, Young is speechless. 

“I thought you didn't remember?” he demands angrily. 

Rush sneers. “I never said that.” 

“Goddammit, Rush! I've been going all over the ship trying to piece together what happened last night, and you remembered all along?!”

Rush casts him a disbelieving glance. “ _Why?_ ”

“Why what?” 

“Why did you try so hard to piece everything together?” 

Young takes a step back. Because... He'd had to know. He couldn't stand the idea of not knowing what happened, how it was possible that they'd ended up like that. It had seemed important, for some reason. 

“We woke up naked in bed together, Rush, that is not normal behavior for us! How the hell does something like that even happen?”

Rush looks away with a frown, and a sickening thought comes to Young. 

“Wait... Did I—did I _force myself on you_?” And suddenly the morning's nausea is back with a vengeance. 

“What?! _No_!” And Rush sounds so indignant that it settles something in Young's mind almost immediately. Jesus. Thank God. 

“Okay,” he says, his heart rate slowly easing back into a more normal rhythm. He plunks his empty mug on the ledge of an unmanned console. “Okay.” 

An uncomfortable silence descends between them, the tension building up as Rush's accusations press unbearably against his mind. It wasn't just him. It couldn't just have been him. Rush just said it was consensual. Rush had _wanted_ it. 

“So, what, then? You're saying that you weren't as drunk as me, yet you still went along with all of that?” 

Rush bristles. “Just because I didn't forget everything, doesn't mean I was in control of my actions!” 

“You sure were a lot less wasted than I was, apparently.” 

“Well, my first action when I sobered up enough to regain the _barest_ ability to function wasn't to question everyone on board about what happened!”

“How is _that_ an argument?” 

“How is it not?! What, you just couldn't stand the idea of not knowing what kind of sex we had? And then you jump to the outrageous conclusion that _I'm_ the one with feelings for you!” 

“Yeah, because _obviously_ you spent no time whatsoever going over your memories of last night,” Young shoots back. 

“You're an arrogant sod!” Rush spits, rounding on him again. 

“And you're a lying pain in the ass!”

And shit, Rush is really close. “I. Didn't. Lie!” He jabs his finger into Young's chest with every word. 

“Well, you didn't exactly give me a straight answer either,” Young growls, and suddenly Rush yanks his head forward for a rough kiss. It's more teeth than tongue, but that's how he always envisioned it would be between him and Rush anyway, and he stumbles backwards until Rush has him pushed against the wall. 

Rush tastes like tea and something darker, his mouth open and hot and achingly intimate beneath Young's own. His hands are in Rush's hair, the strands fine and soft between his fingers, and it feels strangely familiar, all of it.

Rush pushes his thigh between Young's legs, and they both groan into the kiss when their hips align. 

Okay, so maybe there is a small part of him that likes Rush. Fine. But clearly he isn't the only one. 

Rush's erection presses demandingly against his hip, and that should freak him out a little, shouldn't it? But instead he just has that same intense feeling of deja vu, of having already experienced this, and _fuck_ , he really can't stand that he doesn't remember last night.

Suddenly the door mechanism whirs and Rush shoves him backwards. They both look on in utter horror and poorly hidden breathlessness as Park takes a measured step inside. Her white cane taps gently on the floor before her. 

“Doctor Rush? Dale said you were in here.” 

“Yes, I am. What is it?” 

Young gives Rush an annoyed look. Park might not be able to see Rush's disheveled state, but his voice isn't anywhere near casual. There's no way she doesn't notice that. 

“Uh, who else is here? I can hear you breathing.” 

“Young,” he answers, before Rush can say anything. “Rush and I are in the middle of an argument, can this wait?” 

The skeptical expression on her face tells him she doesn't believe that for a second. She must've heard about him and Rush leaving together last night; Young is willing to bet a week's worth of his food rations on it. 

“Yeah, it's nothing important. I just wanted to ask for an update on the starboard shield diagnostics.” 

“Not done yet,” Rush says curtly, and thankfully his voice seems a bit more normal now. 

“Ah, alright. I'll just...go to the bridge, then.” Park's lips stretch into a slow smile as she turns around and carefully makes her way out of the control interface room. When the doors are finally closed again Young glances at Rush. He looks ruffled, and irritated, and altogether indecent.

“Smooth,” Young says dryly, hoping he doesn't look nearly as rumpled as Rush does.

“Well, thank God for your majestic save,” Rush snipes back. “An argument,” he huffs. 

“We _were_ having an argument!” 

“And much as I know you would love to start that back up again, Colonel, we are in a very public area here, as was just painfully demonstrated.” 

Young stares at him and refuses to sputter at that absurd statement. “ _You_ kissed _me_!”

Rush smirks at him before flicking his eyes down to his crotch. “Yes, and clearly you hated every second of it.” 

Goddammit. Rush and his fucking...being an asshole all the time. 

Young feels a lick of triumphant smugness at the way Rush's eyes widen slightly when he reaches inside his uniform to adjust himself. No need to give anyone else on the ship an eyeful. 

“Keep it in your pants, Rush,” he says with a warning look at the man. 

Before Rush can do more than look at him in dumbfounded outrage, Young leaves the control interface room. 

Walking is uncomfortable. He's also pretty sure that by now everyone aboard the ship thinks he's sleeping with Rush, which apparently is not that far from the truth. 

But at least he had the last word. 

-

_“Colonel, we're about to drop out of FTL.”_

Young palms his radio. “Copy that, Volker. I'm on my way to the bridge right now.” 

Three minutes later, he steps inside the bridge. Rush, who is working on one of the corner consoles, ignores him in a way that seems somewhat pointed. Young smiles. He hasn't seen Rush since yesterday, and it appears he is still sore over Young's victory, small as it may have been.

He's only just sat down in the command chair when the FTL drives screech to a halt and everything goes blurry for a second. 

“We have two planets in range,” Volker says almost immediately. “And seven hours on the clock.” 

“Either of them likely to have food?” Young asks. 

A flurry of fingers over the consoles, before Eli speaks up. “The first one doesn't look great, but the second one has water and shouldn't be too cold.” 

Alright. Food reserves are still their biggest priority; they haven't been out of stasis long enough to restock everything they'd accumulated before going into the pods. 

Young assembles two teams to go to the planet, Scott and TJ each leading their own. Within two minutes a kino has been sent through the gate for reconnaissance, and within another seven both teams are on the planet. 

Eli grins. “We're getting kind of good at this, don't you think? That was pretty fast.” 

“Yes,” Rush drawls slowly, and from the insolent look on his face Young knows he's about to say something he's not going to like. “The Colonel is _very_ quick.” 

Young feels his ears go warm. Son of a bitch. 

He glowers at Rush, who raises an eyebrow at him in challenge. 

Eli looks between them with curious confusion on his face. 

“What?” Volker says, which breaks them out of their silent stand-off.

That round goes to Rush. 

-

At dinner, Becker serves a soup with the tubers and the mushroom things TJ's team found on the planet. Young takes his bowl over to where Rush is sitting, if for no other reason than to annoy the man. 

Rush gives him an unreadable look, before going back to his dinner. It's pretty good, Young decides, even if the mushrooms give the soup a slightly dank taste. After weeks of protein mush, getting to finally chew on something again is quite a welcome variation in itself. 

“So, how long did you last, then?” he asks as the noise in the mess hall crescendos around them. He sees the shock ripple over Rush's face when he realizes what Young's question is regarding, and Young can't help but curl the corner of his mouth up slightly as he takes another bite of his food. 

That turns out to be a bit of a miscalculation, because Rush recovers seamlessly, and in a dark, rumbling voice he says, “I'm surprised you don't recall, Colonel. You swallowed it eagerly enough.” 

Young chokes on his soup when it goes down the wrong pipe, and spends the next minute coughing up half a lung while Rush sits back with an accomplished smirk on his face. 

_Dick_.

-

He gets his chance for revenge the next day, after Brody and Volker leave them alone in the control interface room to replace a number of power relays on the upper deck of the ship. 

“What did Becker serve last Thursday?” 

“The same shite as always,” Rush says dismissively. He's inputting an alteration in the FTL course that should lead them to drop out in range of more star systems that might provide them with food and medicinal resources. 

“Yeah, but what flavor?”

Rush gives him a look like he's genuinely wondering how Young manages to function on a day-to-day basis, and Young has to struggle to keep his face passive. “How the fuck am I supposed to know?” 

“You don't remember at all?” he asks, stepping into Rush's space. The dawning realization on Rush's face draws the corners of Young's mouth into a satisfied grin. “Must've been some pretty bland dinner.” 

Rush narrows his eyes at him, and suddenly Young's stomach tightens in anticipation. He knows what's going to happen, this time. Knows to expect it when Rush hauls his face closer and brusquely pushes his tongue inside his mouth, only pulling back to nip sharply at his lips. It's rough, and a little painful, and so fucking hot Young doesn't even realize he's pushing Rush up against a console until Rush hoists himself on top of it and wraps his legs around his waist. 

“You should watch your mouth, Colonel,” Rush says when he finally breaks away. “Unless you want me to fuck you so hard you won't be able to stop remembering.” 

Young's knees almost buckle, because _Jesus_ , he hadn't even thought it through that far, but holy shit. 

Before he can think of a satisfying response, though, his radio crackles. 

_“Uh, guys? You might wanna turn off the shipwide intercom.”_ Eli's voice sounds both horrified and on the edge of a hysterical giggle, and Rush curses as he twists to access the control panel he's currently sitting on. 

“Oh, come _on_!” Young groans, because seriously. Nobody can have this much bad luck. 

He's pretty sure they both lose that round. 

-

He's a little surprised when Rush turns up at his door, that night. He's holding a canteen and two cups, and quirks his eyebrow jauntily as Young lets him inside his quarters. 

“You hoping for round two?” Young asks, watching Rush put the cups on his desk and unscrew the cap to the bottle. 

Rush smirks as he pours out the alcohol. “Technically, round four, isn't it? And I hardly think it's a matter of hope, at this point.” 

He wants to scoff, make Rush feel a little less like this is a sure thing, but it comes out wrong, sounding false even to his own ears. 

“If this is your attempt at playing hard to get, it needs work,” Rush says dryly, but his eyes glitter when he offers Young one of the cups. 

Young takes it without comment. He knows it's not a good idea to get hammered again. But the canteen is not big enough for them to really get drunk, he supposes. Certainly not to the point of blacking out. 

Maybe just the one drink, to quiet the distracting tension vibrating in his stomach.

Rush raises his cup at Young in a mock salute, before slamming it back in one gulp. Young sips his own more moderately, and watches as Rush leisurely leans back against his desk, letting his eyes roam over Young unapologetically. 

Rush looks good like this, calm and amused and a little turned on. He looks appealing. Captivating. To the point where Young has no trouble admitting to himself that last night he jerked off to the thought of going down on him, of swallowing him down like Rush said he had. Fuck, he wants to know if that was true, if he really did that. 

He wants to know everything that happened the night he forgot. 

He blinks down to find his cup empty. He's already feeling the effects of the alcohol in his bloodstream, and he recognizes the lightheadedness for what it is. A precursor, a warning to take it easy if he wants to keep from repeating mistakes. He puts his cup down quickly.

Rush cocks his head at him, a slightly guarded expression on his face.

“You want this,” Rush says. It's not a question. 

Young nods before he can stop himself, takes a step closer to Rush as if he's being pulled in by a magnetic force. 

“C'mere,” Rush says. It's still not a question, but it's more a suggestion than a demand. 

Young follows his voice, closes the gap between them until he's standing in between Rush's legs. Their faces are close enough together that he can feel Rush's breath against his lips. 

“What are you waiting for?” Rush asks. And this is a question. 

Young lets his fingertips trail over the line of Rush's cheek, the stubble both a strange and familiar sensation. He curls his fingers under Rush's chin to tilt his head up, and slots their mouths together slowly, softly. Completely different from what they'd done before.

It's almost chaste, until Rush runs his tongue against the seam of his lips, and then it quickly devolves into a wet slide of tightly contained heat between them. It's good when Rush wraps his arms around his neck to drag him closer. Even better when Rush hooks one leg around him and thrusts upwards. 

It's not too difficult to grab a hold of Rush's ass, to lift him up, and to walk him from the desk to the bed. Rush enthusiastically clamps both legs around his hips, and sucks Young's bottom lip into his mouth with a little hum of appreciation. His erection presses insistently against Young's belly, and somewhere in the back of his mind Young wonders if he should be doing this. 

He's not going to stop now, though, so it's a moot point.

When they're on the bed, he takes Rush's shirt off before pushing him to lie flat on his back. Rush drags him down against him, arches up slightly as he resumes licking and sucking at Young's lips, his tongue, with a hint of desperation that Young finds fascinating and oddly endearing. 

Rush's mouth is soft against his own, but his neck is rougher, the beard hairs tickling against his lips. Young lets his hands roam over the expanse of Rush's chest, skimming against tightly pebbled nipples, moving all the way down to just under the waistband of his jeans. 

Every touch, every inch of skin, fills him with wonder. Has he touched that before? Has he tasted this already? It's driving him mad, not knowing, and he doesn't even realize his own intentions until he's panting against Rush's ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth before begging him to tell, to walk him through what happened the other night. 

Rush huffs a light breath, before rolling them over so that he's on top. The movement is surprisingly fluid, and by the time Young recovers Rush is already sucking sharply at the vulnerable flesh of his throat. 

“I'll tell you,” Rush says, pulling back into his line of sight with a devilish smirk and a challenge in his eyes. “If you let me fuck you.” 

It flashes Young back to what he'd said this afternoon, and something twists low in his stomach. He can't deny the thought has played through his mind on a loop for the past few hours. He could take it, physically. He could stop Rush at any moment. It might be really good. It might be something he's been missing.

Fuck, is he really going to do this? 

“Yeah, okay,” he breathes, and the look Rush gives him already makes this worth it. A strange mixture of astonishment and full-blown desire. God, who'd've thought Rush could _look_ like that? At him, no less.

He lets Rush strip him out of his clothes. Lets him put a pillow under his back, even though it feels somewhat humiliating, presenting himself like that, his dick standing up hard and ready and completely betraying his excitement. He bucks slightly when Rush trails his fingertips over the head of his erection, sliding tantalizingly through the precome on his tip.

“We kissed,” Rush says eventually, as he moves to kneel between Young's legs. “I started it, but you made it escalate.” He runs his hands over Young's thighs, squeezing softly as he parts them further, and Young feels his stomach flutter anxiously. 

“You were hard. I put my hand on you and you made this _noise_ ,” Rush mumbles against the skin of Young's thigh, as he spreads the contents of a packet of lube over his fingers. “Went right to my prick.” 

Young is breathing hard, propping himself up on his elbows, looking at him, keeping eye contact as Rush recounts their alcohol-soaked night for him. “I used my hand. It didn't take long. You never stopped kissing me right up until the end.” His fingertips tremble slightly as he brushes them against Young's entrance. He pushes two digits in as he says, “You said my name when you came.” 

Young curses – at the intrusion, at the image in front of him, at the implication of Rush's words – and feels his cock jerk dangerously. 

“When you were done,” Rush continues, as he works his fingers deeper into Young, “You asked, you _pleaded_ , to suck me off.” Rush inhales shakily at that, and then suddenly he leans forward like he can't hold himself back anymore, and sucks one of Young's balls into his mouth. It's more intoxicating than the alcohol he'd brought, and Young can't keep in the low moan that rises from the depths of his throat. Rush pulls back with a slick sound, and mercilessly keeps stretching him open. His voice is a bit rougher when he carries on talking. “Your mouth was so hot. Wet. I loved it.” He slips a third finger in and Young feels himself tense around it. “Never expected you'd go through with it, but you took me in like you'd wanted to do that for a long time.” 

Young throws his arms over his eyes and groans deeply, and he's sure Rush can clearly see the way his dick twitches. He has three fingers inside Young now, moving and opening slowly, carefully. “I tried to warn you when I came,” Rush pants, obviously not even trying to maintain an air of detachment anymore. “But you just kept on, and _fuck_ , you swallowed everything down.” He curls his fingers upwards, hitting Young's prostate as if to emphasize his words. Young moans as his body shudders violently. “All of me,” Rush rumbles with a hitched breath. 

Christ, Young can't believe the sounds coming out of his own mouth, but it's goddamn blissful, being opened up like this. Hearing Rush's arousal grow more urgent as he finally tells him what went down that night. 

“And now,” Rush says, as he places a deceptively chaste kiss on his thigh. “You're going to take me all in again, aren't you, Colonel?” He retracts his fingers, and Young can't help a strangled sound falling from his lips at the sudden sense of loss. 

“I'm going to fuck you so good you'll feel it for _days_.” For a mad second Young wants to correct the grammar the man is usually so protective of, but then Rush mutters, “Should've done that in the first place, keep you from forgetting.” 

Rush moves over him, places a sharp bite onto his jaw, and lines himself up against Young's entrance. When he pushes inside Young can't help but make a noise, half in protest, half spurring Rush on. 

_Fuck_ , it's tight. The stretch burns more than Rush's fingers did, and Rush is looking at him with a gaze so intense that he can't hide, can't stop himself from breathing out Rush's name with a voice that trembles right on the edge of breaking. 

“You really are quite remarkable,” Rush sighs with a shudder, as he steadily sinks deeper inside Young. Rush smiles at him, then, and it's open, completely unguarded, and in this instant Young thinks he might fall in love with Rush. 

“Kiss me,” he says, and it's a question but it's not, and Rush's smile widens fractionally before he dips down to press their lips together again. It's sweet, and soft, and dry, and exactly what he wants. And then Rush is in, buried entirely inside him, and it is a kind of fullness he's never experienced before, but he thinks he might fall in love with that as well. 

He opens his mouth to let Rush in there, too, the slick tangle of tongues making all of this feel even closer, even more intimate. God, he feels like he could shake apart. It's too much, but still he needs more. 

Rush makes a startled noise when Young winds his legs around him, drags him in even deeper, and rolls his hips forward to get him to _move_ already. 

When Rush obliges, starts rocking into him in earnest, Young lets his head fall back with an uncontrollable moan. Jesus, yeah, Rush is fucking him, _taking_ him, his fingers digging hard into the flesh of Young's shoulder, and every thrust seems to go deeper, faster. Every time Rush's cock hits his prostate it wrings a soft gasp out of Young, and he feels the thrill of something profound, a rooted pleasure that he desperately wants more of.

Rush shudders above him and lets out a keening whine. “ _Fuck_ , I...you—” he groans out, but then Young tangles his hands into Rush's hair and pulls him back in for a kiss, and as their mouths line up again, the rhythm builds, slowly becoming less controlled, more furious, until Rush bites Young's bottom lip _hard_. A full-body tremor goes through Rush, and then he spasms once, twice, against Young, as his climax is pulled out of him. 

The sounds, fuck, the sounds Rush makes into his mouth are almost enough to push Young over the edge himself. 

When Rush stills against him he buries his face in Young's neck, his breath coming in quick gasps. Young runs his tongue over the inside of his lip and tastes something metallic that isn't quite blood. His own arousal lies like a hot brand between their sweat-soaked bodies. 

Rush inhales deeply against Young's skin before pulling back, and when he moves in for another kiss it's unhurried and gentle. Almost tender, with the way Rush brushes his hand through Young's hair. 

Suddenly Rush is shifting, drawing his softening cock out and inching down until he is kneeling between Young's legs. Without pause, he pushes two fingers into him again, twisting them through the wet mess inside, rubbing against his prostate with slow, sensuous strokes. _Fuck_ , that's good. With his other hand he takes hold of Young's erection, straining and slick with wound up desire, and angles it towards—no, he's not really going to... 

But, oh God, yeah, it turns out he _is_ , because then Rush is licking all over the head of his cock, his tongue clever and quick as his fingers continue moving inside of Young. 

He cries out, the stimulation so overwhelming it clouds his senses, and when Rush closes his lips around him and fervidly sucks him inside, he knows he's not going to last much longer. The fingers pressing inside him, the wicked glide of tongue on his dick, the almost painful grip Rush has on his thigh now, it culminates into a staggering pulse of pleasure, and that's it— _he can't hold on_. With a strangled warning he fists his fingers in the bedding, shakes silently as he tries to keep from bucking up, and then he's spilling into Rush's mouth as his orgasm rips through him. Every nerve ending in his body is alight with how goddamn amazing it feels, and oh Jesus, he feels Rush swallow around him and _yes_ , he wants this so fucking bad. 

He lies still as he regains his breath, and while his eyes are closed he feels Rush getting off the bed. There's an odd tightness in his chest as he waits for the door mechanism to whir. 

It doesn't come, though, and then Rush is back. The soft scrape of a towel against sensitive skin shocks Young into opening his eyes again. 

“Are you cleaning me?” he asks, disbelief in his voice. Somehow that doesn't compute with what he knows of Rush. 

Rush shrugs, a hint of a smile on his lips, before wiping himself off and tossing the hand towel to the side. “Purely out of self-interest, I assure you.” 

Young has no idea what he even means by that, but then Rush drapes himself bodily on top of Young and pulls the covers over them, and he decides to stop thinking. Rush is warm against him, his weight snug and reassuring on top of him, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to wrap his arms around Rush's back in an exhausted embrace. 

Young feels his eyes droop as Rush settles his head in the crook of his neck and breathes in deeply. 

He's almost asleep when he hears Rush murmur darkly, “You'd better fucking remember this in the morning.” 

He smiles and hums a sleepy assent against the top of Rush's head. 

As if he's ever going to forget.


End file.
